FOR JOY BE RIGHTEOUS

“I wonder who will sing for me when I am gone”

No one crawl-voiced enough, no one shawl-

throated and tall tale torqueing sleep into night-

mare can neigh like the hinges of your casket-

taut joints, can sing brighter than the birds of church

hats when fans lift frills that veil a brown seeing.

In what torment and why do you find that song

is necessary adieu? Farewell, not in the dirt

landing over your body, not in the burgundy

crease the departing sun leaves behind. Farewell

discourteous dead-not-yet. My friend, won’t tears

be enough? Won’t the hollow piped wings

tearing from behind you sting enough to amnesia

you from recognizing any longer a human voice?

The small animal in you thrusts for sky, rises out.